


The Ache of Your Absence

by JGogoboots



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hopelessly Besotted Cannibal, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 04:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/JGogoboots
Summary: This was sprung from a prompt from the lovelyLady_Darkness: “I’d like to see Will missing and Hannibal’s reaction to it.” I meant for it to be about Will going missing in some way pertaining to one of their hunts, ending with Hannibal having to rescue him. Buuttt my brain insistently shouted “you need to do an angsty pining cannibal at home desperate for Will’s attention fic” until I listened and just rolled with it. :P





	The Ache of Your Absence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Darkness/gifts).



Will is prone to abruptly leaving the house and wandering for unspecified amounts of time, leaving me to speculate the nature of his whereabouts and when and if he will return. Not one to be beholden to the modern conveniences most consider a necessity, Will has refused to carry a cell phone since our recovery from our plunge into the stormy sea. I suspect it is also partly due to a need to defy me, a need to keep me at arm’s length by not allowing me the luxury of contacting him whenever I may wish. It is maddening how little control I have over the anxiety, the pacing about the house while endless conjectures regarding his activities and safe return fill my mind until there is room for little else. I feel neutered sometimes, a housebroken furry animal waiting with bated breath for the return of its master only to feign aloofness when he arrives in an effort to disguise how deeply and uncontrollably I yearn for his affection.

Today is no different. After gruffly announcing that he is going out (always phrased with frustrating brevity, "out" as though a sullen teenager escaping from the asphyxiating atmosphere of their home), he collects his blue wool coat and an umbrella from the mahogany rack in the foyer and disappears into the night without so much as a fleeting backward glance. I busy myself with every cultural pursuit available but find it all terribly lacking in depth. The ringing harmonics of the harpsichord sound dull and lifeless in the solitary living room, the words of Proust are suddenly empty and frivolously self-indulgent, and the sharp points of my pencil can sketch only derivative images I cannot bear to look upon.

For a moment, I convince myself that he is not cognizant of his cruelty or the extent to which it infects my psyche like a cancer, how he is the only one capable of accomplishing this. But I am painfully alert to the truth. He is acutely aware and therein lies the impulse to leave me to my own devices, lying in contemplative wait.

He is careless when he finally arrives, umbrella trailing fat drops of rainwater on the foyer, floors that are comprised of the original wood chosen when the house was first built at the end of the Victorian era. It is the sort of detail I would impart to him in easier times, and he would bashfully smile, delighted to hear of my esoteric passions no matter how dry they might seem to someone else. My lips quirk up in a brief, wistful smile as I think about how Will never acted as though these were insipid topics in those early days of friendship, never betrayed a hint of boredom despite how far they diverged from his own interests. I long for him to give me that rapt attention again, to look at me with that fascination instead of wariness and confusion.

"You were gone a long time." I maintain an even tone although I burn with the ache to accost. It wouldn't do any good anyhow, and I doubt any satisfaction would be gained on my part from adopting an accusatory tone. I do not want him to enjoy my company by force although I have begun to wonder why he does not leave permanently if he truly is discomfited enough to choose avoidance so often.

"Were you worried?" He sounds tired as he hangs up his coat, eyes flitting to mine before returning to the ground as he removes his wet shoes.

"You might consider joining the rest of the twenty-first century by acquiring a cell phone." I idly tinker with the keys of the harpsichord, a swift run of notes amounting to nothing in particular.

I can feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing or perhaps exasperated, but I do not turn to look.

"Why don't you just admit it?" Will wearily protests. I do not respond, and after a moment he sighs and turns to go upstairs.

 

                                                                            ______________

 

Two days later, we have breakfast over the island in the kitchen, and he compliments the quiche, holding my gaze for a few seconds.

I watch him fortify with food and gulps of coffee. The curls framing his forehead have grown long and unruly. I consider offering him a haircut yet I have grown fond of the excess length. It's the look of a reclusive, mountain-dwelling philosopher, and it suits him.

"I do worry."

He looks up cautiously from his meal, and then breaks into a slow, triumphant grin.

"Now was that so hard?" The smile turns flirtatious before he resumes eating or perhaps I imagine it. I tell myself that I should not dare to hope. _Abandonment_ _requires expectation._ Does he know I have learned from him every bit as much as he has learned from me? Regardless, I smile as I finish the last bites of my quiche.

 

                                                                          _________________

 

The next time he retreats into the night, he is gentler when he delivers the news. He maintains eye contact and says he shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. I thank him for telling me, and he offers a strained smile before closing the door.

As I sit by the fire with a glass of wine, I pensively consider my embarrassing need for validation from Will. I know that it will reach new heights yet again, that I would readily, unabashedly admit it and kneel at his feet should he ask. I would kiss them in penance, grateful even for the embrace of the mere soles of his worn feet against my lips.

One night, after too much Cabernet Sauvignon to anesthetize everything festering within me that I cannot ignore, I nearly do. He is sitting in the armchair by the fire looking glassy-eyed and faraway, lost within himself. I desperately want to turn his focus outward, to drive his introspection away until he is obliged to consider the man before him, the man whose company he is still willing keeping, morosely or not. I rise from my position on the couch and kneel between his legs, my hands resting on his knees. I can feel the vulnerability nakedly displayed in my eyes and though it partly sickens me, this feels correct. Posed on my knees before him like a question and a request feels honest, and is transparency not what he always sought? Still does seek?

His cheeks flush a lovely pink, the pink of peonies after a spring shower, and he struggles to look into my eyes.

"You should get up," He halfheartedly whispers, and I am afraid for a moment that he finds this display of yearning to be pathetic, weak. For once, I shun circumvention in favor of mundane directness.

"Do you find me terribly pitiable?"

"No...no no I...that's not..." His face is unbearably soft as he finally gazes upon me, eyes shy but unwavering. Will chews his bottom lip as he considers his thoughts, rakes through them one by one before speaking. It is an expression I have seen him wear so many times. When it comes to words, he has always been careful and deliberate, never rash."I just don't know what to do with this...how to navigate us now that we're alone without obstruction...and I don't know how to apologize for what I did."

I can feel my brow knit together as I process this very unprecedented lamentation.

"What sins do you have to atone for?"

He looks at me in disbelief, forehead wrinkled and lush, red lips quivering ever so slightly.

"I tried to kill us...not exactly a transgression you can make amends for with a Hallmark card." His eyes turn down again, and his fingers twitch in his lap before cautiously reaching out to cover my hand.

Relief washes over me like a cleansing baptism, and I smile up at him. He timidly smiles back before extricating himself from the chair and offering me his hand. I take it and get up from the floor.

"I thought you - "

"I know. I'm sorry. I've always parsed things alone. It's hard to quiet the noise otherwise. I should have told you."

"I should have asked."

We exchange wry glances, and then he supplies me with the second surprise of the evening.

"Come upstairs with me?"

I nod and follow him as a man in a trance. We have slept separately ever since the need for constant vigilance passed, our sutures dissolved and the question of our survival answered. He stops at my bedroom and looks back as though seeking approval. I nod again, and he proceeds. Making his way to the bed, Will stretches out, long and lean yet demure somehow. He is no longer hiding behind any pretense, and for that matter, neither am I. He lays his arm straight out on the portion of the comforter to his right, and in my astonishment, it takes a second to gather his meaning.

I position myself beside him, my head against his chest and my arm slung across his stomach, and he curls the outstretched arm around my shoulder so tenderly I nearly weep. We lie in silence listening to each other breathe, me cataloging every rise and fall of his chest, every curve of the muscle beneath me. When he finally speaks, I find I have almost been lulled to slumber by the peace I find in this moment.

"It was hard to adjust. I wanted to hurt you, but I wanted to hold you. I wanted to love you, but I wanted to make you suffer. I wanted to apologize, but I wanted to pour salt in the wound."

"I know. Thank you for this." And I mean it, doleful as it may be. His embrace feels like sustenance I could devour for all time.

"You shouldn't thank me...not for this." He sounds mournful, and when I look up at his handsome face, scarred, tangible evidence of his trauma written in the healed ridges of tissue, somehow all the more distinguished for it instead of marred and devalued, I want more. I want more, but I fear he is like an untamed, skittish woodland creature unaccustomed to human touch who will run if I approach first. My desire wins over pragmatism and I lean in to brush his neck with my lips in a kiss so light, it might go unnoticed were it dark enough in the room to obscure his vision. He shivers, and it feels like an answer, a gift of assent, and so I press my mouth to his pulse again, lingering but very still until fingers begin to tentatively stroke my hair. I try to stop, to withdrawal, to count my blessings and not be overcome with avarice and a blindingly fierce need to possess, but my tongue escapes my mouth like a wily serpent who has no master and licks quick stripes along the ivory of his neck.

“Hannibal.”

Will breathes my name, and it’s my turn to shudder, frissons of pleasure dancing across my skin at that musical sound, sweet and clear as a church bell. He slips his knee between my legs and grazes my erection, rubbing slowly and curiously against the swell through the cloth like he’s discovering something new and is not yet sure what to do with it.

“You’re hard.” He says it like it’s a marvel, a vexing surprise, and I can smell his arousal. It's the most intoxicating scent imaginable. I don’t know what to say, cannot read this altogether unexpected situation, but, uncertain or not, every second is sublime. I expect and deserve so little that every gasp and rigid line of his body against mine feels like a sacred rite, an endowment dropped from the hands of god himself. At a loss for words, I apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

“No I...I just didn’t think you...needed.” He sighs and regroups. I patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts. “That sounds idiotic. You’re a person...no matter how anomalous. I just didn’t think your needs were quite the same as others when it came to this. I wasn't sure what you would want…or not want.”

His blue eyes sparkle like rare sapphires as he gazes down at me, one hand still tangled in the hair at the base of my neck as the other runs up and down the length of my arm.

"I want...I _need_ ," I amend myself, "everything from you. Everything you give, I will ravenously consume and beg for more."

He gulps and traces the line of my cheekbone. Shakily, he bends down and kisses me, the press of his lips firmer and more insistent when I respond in kind, but I reserve the roiling hunger radiating from the very core of me. I let him set the pace of this budding intimacy, nearly frozen in awe as he caresses my tongue with his own, his own growing hardness beginning to prod at my stomach. I slide up until we are flush against each other, chest to chest, my thighs bracketing his as I carefully arrange myself on top of him.

His hands explore my body, slipping beneath my sweater to stroke the small of my back up to my shoulders. The first small thrust of his hips against mine pulls groans from the depths of both of our throats, and I fear now that this will end prematurely from the sheer undeniable strength of my craving for this man and the pent-up desire mounting over what feels like eons and yet also only days. Will reaches down between my legs and palms my cock. I gasp but then stiffen as a realization sinks in. Reluctantly, I still his hand by covering it with my own.

"I do not want you to do this while you are still undecided. If in the cold morning light you...become ashamed and withdrawal...it would be worse – "

“Than not having it at all," He finishes for me.

"Yes."

"I won’t." His resolve is clear, his eyes piercing mine with determination yet still I question the veracity of that statement.

"Recent behavior suggests otherwise."

"I need you. I need to touch you, and I need you to touch me."

"Right now perhaps – "

"Hannibal." His tone is almost petulant now, irked that I would attempt to override his own assessment of his feelings. "It's not right now. It's always. It's so deeply rooted, neither of us will ever be able to extract it. Not with a fucking chainsaw. Not even with a perilous push off a cliff apparently. _Please._ "

He takes me in hand again, squeezing through my trousers and nibbling my neck with a muffled moan.

"Stop questioning me and _believe_ what I'm telling you."

I jerkily nod against his cheek and pull back, clutching his face between my hands before descending on his mouth in a rapacious kiss, my tongue memorizing every corner of his perfect mouth. Our clothes are shed with such haste that it comes as a shock when I find myself confronted with his graceful, naked form. His beauty is everything I pictured in my mind's eye and yet exceeds every expectation. I trail my lips along every inch of him that I can reach, worshiping at his altar, desperate to prolong this but powerless to harness the desire pushing me forward. I swallow him down and relish the way he clutches at my shoulders as his cock hits the back of my throat. His whimpers and pleas fill the room and echo in my mind, a song I commit to memory and hope to hear for the rest of my days. When he comes, the bittersweet taste is yet another way I now know him, a way we are joined and familiar, and I ache for it like a man deprived of all sensation for years and discovering it anew.

He eagerly pulls me to him and locks our mouths, his taste mingling on our tongues as his fingers wrap around my erection and coax me to a climax that is far too soon. Sated, we rest together, limbs entwined and sweat cooling on our skin. We share a bed for the first night in weeks. I barely sleep, awakened every half hour or so as if summoned by the nagging notion that he may have chosen to flee while I drifted off. But my exhaustion-heavy eyelids always open to find Will beside me, shifting and groaning softly in his sleep. I kiss his exquisite skin each time and try to return to rest.

 

                                                                           ________________

 

The next day Will leaves shortly after lunch. With a gentle kiss to my temple, he supplies a destination and a proposed return time. After he slips his slender arms into his coat, he takes a cell phone from the end table and slides it into the right pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a link to the Tumblr post too :) [The Ache of Your Absence](http://punchedbymarkesmith.tumblr.com/post/171381485941/hannigram-prompt-fill-will-missing)


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